The Stain of Heroism
by Mizari
Summary: This land is ripe with loyalty and valor, where the people are brimming with justice and goodwill. It is a good place. The people are good. Char Rivers is not, and every moment she spends in Hoenn only spreads the taint she carries. The people here expect their heroes to be pure and just, but what if the one they need is as filthy and stained as their enemies?
1. Prologue

_The Stain of Heroism_

 **Prologue**

"Did you do your homework for Patel's class yet?"

With an inward sigh, Char looked up from her laptop, pulling the screen down some to shield her writing from view. She gave the interloper a narrowed look, suspicion carving a prophecy of premature wrinkles across her forehead and around her red-rimmed eyes. "I've already turned it in." She lifted her screen and bent back to her work.

Her classmate ignored the dismissal, his tone and mood souring immediately. It was the status quo of most who shared more than three or four words with the likes of Char Rivers. "Come on, girl, gimme a break! Shit, I can't miss another assignment."

She blinked, disturbed by the accusing tone in his voice. As if _she_ was to blame for his failures. There were many things she disliked, and undeserved fault ran high on the list. Making her voice colder, her eyes flintier, she growled, "I'm rather busy, if you haven't noticed?"

"But I've been working so _hard_. You don't know what it's like, juggling a full-time job and school. You just coast along on your scholarship and dis—"

She blocked the rest of the speech out. It would do her no good to listen to their pandering. Every word, pleading and whining, dug into her skull like needles. Also on the list of Things Char Hates was laziness, and in her head the word was written in all capital letters. It ranked second highest of sins, because very little was worse than people who were too selfish or sloth to _work_.

She despised being an adult, being the most mature person anyone knew, because people looked to her to solve their problems. Because the children around her, idiots who refused to grow up, expected her to take care of them.

 _Share your homework? Share your money? Share your time? I'm so busy, Char, can't you help me out for once?_

And they raged when she refused, as if it was her _job_ to do their homework. As if she was Atlas, consigned to carry their world. They treated her like she'd failed them, when she didn't even _know_ them.

Almost on cue, the accusations began. "You're stuck-up and selfish, you know that? I've never met someone so self-centered in my—"

Char surged out of her seat, slamming her laptop closed with a touch too much force. She'd regret that later, but the only thing on her mind was making _them_ regret. On hitting, on hurting, on showing them—

She clenched her fingers into a fist, forcing it against her thigh. No fights; they weren't allowed. The consequences…no, not worth it. Char smiled thinly, knowing how she looked when she smiled, knowing that she was as fake as they were. "Sorry about that."

She felt plastic. Brittle.

She wished she could slap her classmate. All of them, even. She wished she was clever and charismatic enough to escape their ire, or dumb enough that she wouldn't catch their attention. Emilia could toss her hair and laugh, and no one would dare be mad at her. Wysteria, who was Char's self-proclaimed 'spirit animal,' would flat out lie and make an impressive charade of fury and indignation, enough to scare off her interrogators. But Char's ideals—or more accurately, an unattractive lack of tact—meant that she made more friends than enemies.

Her classmate muttered something insulting, and she returned in kind with, "Maybe if you spent less time complaining about how hard it is to flip burgers, you'd have room to do your homework?" She wouldn't have been surprised if he begged someone to do said burger-flipping for him, and because her face was easy to read, she knew that the thought could be read in her glare.

" _Bitch_."

"Fucker." She shot back hotly.

Stuffing her computer and charger in her bag, hating how long she was delayed, Char fled the library. And the campus, and then the city. She took a taxi to her apartment, knowing that the expense would be greater but loathing the idea of sharing space with other people. All the while her head ached more and more, thrumming every time someone shouted or a car honked or when she caught a whiff of perfume or smog. By the time she got to her door, she was dizzy. Why couldn't they simply leave her alone? She wished to crawl into a dark corner, cover her head with a warm blanket, and sleep forever. But adults weren't allowed to escape reality, even when they had migraines.

"Good afternoon. You're home early. Shouldn't you be studying?"

Her stomach sinking when she saw her landlady in the kitchen, arms deep in the sink full of sudsy water, Char croaked, "Oh, hi, Mrs. Ortega."

Mrs. Ortega owned the condo that Char shared with two classmates from high school, one of them Mrs. Ortega's daughter Raquel. She was a reasonable woman, Char had always thought; she was fair with the rent and took on the risk of renting a condo to students. But then Raquel's parents had divorced, and now in the midst of war over property and money, Mrs. Ortega didn't seem as kindly mature as before.

Char had stood at the edge of worse skirmishes and survived, but she wasn't feeling up to Mrs. Ortega's passive-aggressive spite today. "You shouldn't be washing the dishes." She said, careful not to make her tone sound reprimanding, fearing that the other woman might take insult. Char dropped her bag on the couch and started rolling up her sleeves and stuffing jewelry in her pockets. "Let me take care of it."

She was the sort who liked chores done a certain way, and despite all logic, she had a difficult time accepting that 'other' ways were 'right.' Dish washing was one of her particular quirks. She hated doing dishes overall, but as neither Raquel or Elvira ever did it right, the city often fell onto Char's shoulders, regardless of whether or not she'd made the mess.

Mrs. Ortega waved her away, smile solicitous yet slightly icy. "You girls are filthy. Haven't any of you learned any responsibility? How long have these dishes been in here? Char, you more than anyone else need to get your act together."

Char's spine stiffened indignantly. She hadn't suffered temper problems in high school, but after she'd come back from overseas, she'd found her patience for others wearing thin. Thinner and thinner, which each passing day. But her discipline was too well-ingrained for her to respond except with a twisted, pained look.

Mrs. Ortega mistook this as agreement. Burying her arms up to her elbows in the dirty dish water, she scrubbed at the baking pans and mixing bowls. Bits of icing and cookie dough floated amidst the suds, and Char's throat closed in disgust. Mrs. Ortega didn't notice. "You girls never clean up around here. If you want to cook, you need to be prepared to clean up after yourself."

Excuses weren't her thing, so Char bore the criticism in silence. It didn't matter that the dishes hadn't been there when she'd left for class.

"—the living room is a mess, too. Why do you need so many blankets all the time? And you never fold any of them."

She never used those blankets, but she didn't say it aloud.

"Really," Mrs. Ortega sighed, and the sound was like a hit in the back of Char's head.

It _hurt_. Overseas, with her closest friends, she'd learned the true definition of faith and trust. But when she'd returned to the US, alone and world-weary, she'd yet to find an ounce of it in others. Maybe if she'd stayed down south with her sisters, she'd heal, but isolated in a college campus, she felt adrift and raw. Vulnerable. And that made her sharp and defensive.

Except for her family, no one had ever given Char much of anything.

"You're so—"

"I have to study." She grabbed her bag and made a beeline for her room. A part of her wanted to stay, to pick a fight, to scream. But she was a big girl. Big girls didn't have temper tantrums. Big girls sucked in their stomachs, clenched their teeth, and did the responsible thing.

She hated being the big girl.

Char resolved to set aside some time to call her sisters. Though states separated them, and though the past had been hard and brutal and rife with bitter fights and resentment, she'd never felt so at peace except when she was listening to their voices, hearing their assurances.

 _"We're fine, yes. We've been eating. Mom's getting better. She was cutting coupons the other day! We got a sticker at one of those recruitment things they do at the high school, stuck it on Wysteria's bumper. When will you be home? We miss you!"_

Her throat went tight. She missed them, too. They'd only reconciled less than a year ago, and it felt so sweet to be loved again. To have shed the burden of hate and replaced it with understanding and the warm hands of family. Same as most people, her sisters couldn't relate to Char. But they understood, better than others could, why. Why she was hard, why she was bitter, why she hated everything and everyone around her. Why she hated herself most of all.

"Char, I'm not done talking. Raquel says you haven't been paying your portion of the rent. She says she keeps asking you, and—"

Ice skittered down Char's spine, and she nearly stumbled over her own feet. Clumsily, she turned around. "Ex-excuse me?"

She'd handed Raquel the cash last Tuesday.

Mrs. Ortega's voice was stern, disappointed. "Honey, I know you're working hard, but it's not fair on the others—"

Char had given _extra_ last Tuesday, because Raquel had said that the rent went up. She'd given her roommate…Char's stomach rolled, and she felt the nausea climbing up her throat.

Her chest heaved.

Putting a hand over her mouth, Char rushed to her room, feeling like she was wading through jelly. Behind her, Mrs. Ortega raised her voice, followed.

 _Bathroom._

"We need to talk—"

 _She was going to throw up._

"Idon'twanttotalk!"

She wanted to turn around, to screech. They were always…taking advantage or trying to…probing her, poking her, making her miserable. Almost everyone she'd ever known was that way. Once upon a time, even her mother and sisters had been guilty. Char was responsible by nature, but responsibility meant assuming blame. Not just hers, but other's. It meant that she assumed punishment, that the fine was hers to pay. The only burden she'd ever borne willingly—the only one that was rightly deserved—was nowhere near as heavy as the expectations of the small-minded people around her.

Char despised others. She despised responsibility, when the people around her were such children. Raquel had probably run off with Char's portion of the rent and spent it without thinking, and when confronted by her mother about the missing portion, she'd pointed her finger in the other direction. No doubt Raquel would come apologize to Char later, swear to tell her mother the truth and correct the error. But then she'd forget, time would pass, and it wouldn't seem worth the effort anymore. At least, not to Raquel. Like a chore put off too long, the urgency would fade, and so would the importance of the mission. And Char would…would…

Her head throbbed.

She needed to call Emilia and Wysteria. They'd calm her down. They'd make it better, even if she wasn't home where the three of them could curl together on Char's old twin size bed and giggle about Star Wars and frivolous things that didn't matter. The girls had a way of soothing the beast in Char.

Fumbling with her doorknob, she stepped into the darkness of her bedroom.

…and felt nothing beneath her feet.

She tumbled down, down, down, like Alice through the rabbit hole. No air rushed past, no wind sang in her ears. In fact, she felt like she was floating in jelly, the air around her thick and heavy. Char felt gravity—a force—pulling on her, dragging her through the blackness, and the pounding in her head kept growing, crawling across the back of her neck until it felt like a dozen fingers digging into her skull.

Pushing, pushing, pushing, until surely she would pop like a cherry under the pressure.

And then…she did.

Char slammed against a wall, sharp bits digging into her hips and shoulders and tearing at her exposed skin. Her chin knocked against stone, her teeth clacking so hard they must have cracked, and white dots sprang before her eyes. Then she was falling onto her back, more rocks cutting and jabbing, and she cried out. It hurt.

Her head didn't.

"Oh my goodness, ma'am, are you alright?"

Sudden light flared, blinding, and it didn't make her head spin with agony. Her migraine was gone, apparently.

So was her room.

Char blinked. Rocks, everywhere. She was in…a cave? And…no, that didn't make any sense, but…

A hand touched her shoulder, making her jump. "Ma'am, you alright? Oh, dear, you're bleeding. Let me take you to the Center. Did you fall from…uh, up there? What happened? Never mind. I've got you."

The young man was dressed like a spelunker, with a hard helmet, a headlamp, and dirt-covered pants and shirt. The majority of the light wasn't from his headlamp though; it came from the child standing beside him.

Rubbing her eyes, Char tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The child…was that kid dressed up like a pokémon?

"Sa…ble?" The purple head tilted sideways, wide mouth displaying a red tongue and sharp white teeth. It held a ball of light in its hand, above its head like a lantern.

The proportions of the body weren't right for a child. The arms too skinny, the fingers too long, for it to be a mere costume. Unless it was a very well-made costume. How'd she get from her bedroom to a cave with a cosplaying duo?

"Why's your kid dressed like a sableye?" Was there a Comicon going on that she wasn't aware of? In a cave?

The man had a handheld device, maybe a radio, up to his ear. "Porter, can you come down to the Painted Room? The room with the murals, know what I'm talking about? There's someone hurt here. Could you and Machoke help me carry her? She might have hurt her legs. It was a bad fall." At this he looked speculatively overhead, but his child's light didn't reach far enough to show anything.

"Hey, dude, I know roleplay is important, but it's okay to get out of character." Char snapped, sitting up and rubbing at her arms. And then her legs. Shit, it was cold, and her cuts and bruises were stinging like crazy.

She patted her pockets, found them empty. Then she checked them again, turning the pockets inside out and cursing herself. Where was her cell?

"Hey, can I borrow your phone? Fuck, never mind." She was underground. No matter how much any service provider bragged, she doubted they'd set up service underground. "Where am I, anyways? I was in my apartment…"

The only logical thing she could come up with was that she'd hit her head, passed out, and was now experiencing a vivid dream. Or Elvira was dabbling in drugs again, this time some sort of incense that brought on hallucinations. Cursing her roommates silently, Char forced herself to her feet, ignoring the frantic worrying of the stranger.

"Stupid fucking dream," She groaned, using the wall to support herself.

"Hey, you probably shouldn't touch that. There's scientists who come out here every so often, and they'd pitch a fit if you were ruining—"

Clutching her arm, and noting that it was sticky from a long scratch stretching from shoulder to elbow, Char tried to find her balance. She nearly failed. The man came up from behind and caught her by the armpits, and his kid darted between her and the wall, as if to prevent her from getting closer.

"Thanks, Sabie. Miss, I think you cracked your head. We should get you checked out."

She wouldn't be surprised if she had. A concussion could explain the strangeness of this all. A tumor, maybe. The guy felt _real_ , his hands warm and his breath stirring her hair. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was more than a figment of her imagination.

Behind them, another voice greeted, "Oi, Jonathan, is everything okay?"

She heard running feet, coming towards them, but Char's attention drifted behind the kid cosplaying as a sableye to the mural behind it. Holy fucking sticks, it looked just like it did in that pokémon video game she played when she was a kid. Except…big. Really big. And most definitely not made with poor-quality pixels.

"I think she's got a concussion. She fell from _up there_. Is there a ledge that overlooks this room? Or you think she got grabbed by some zubats and carried up? They avoid this room, but my cousin said it happened to him once in Johto—"

"Your cousin's a compulsive liar." The newcomer chuckled. His laugh was mimicked by a throaty "Ma-choke-choke!"

The new guy was dressed like a hiker. Or rather, like what a city person would stereotypically assume was a hiker—heavy jacket, blanket roll, and an obscenely-bulging backpack. Why was someone carrying so much shit in a cave? And right beside him, grinning from ear to ear, was someone wearing a machoke costume. Or maybe, since this was a dream, yeah, it was a fucking machoke.

Why not? Why. The. Fuck. Not?

This was shaping up to be a weird dream, and Char bet that Emilia and her stupid "college try" drug phase was to blame.

Except it wasn't a dream. Or a drug-induced hallucination.

It was real. All of it.

«_-~*°»

"Where did she come from?"

"Calm down, Flannery. We should get all the facts first. Brawly, she was given medical care?"

Through the tiny screen, Brawly Sega nodded, eyes closed in concentration. His blue hair was as unruly as ever, but Norman suspected that it was a touch more wild than usual. Brawly was a quiet, sage man, but it seemed that recent events had disrupted his normally-unshakeable equilibrium. "We have a local clinic. I was going to call Rustboro and see if the hospital had equipment to check for head trauma. All the clinic could do was wrap her up and try to keep her from sleeping, in case of concussion. The chansey at the PokéCenter didn't seem concerned, so there couldn't have been anything life-threatening, but still…" He trailed off, scratching his chin. A furrow of worry formed between his brows. "I don't like it, all the same. A girl, heavily injured, running off on her own. If any of you see her, give me a call?"

Norman nodded, and the others, each relegated to a tiny square corner of the screen, nodded back. Of course they would. If a young woman was in danger, it was their duty as human beings to help out.

"Did you find any identification on her?" Asked Wattson, his normally-jolly face lined with concern. He had a daughter, and maybe he was superimposing her onto the young woman.

"I didn't think to check for a trainer card. But one thing…I, uh, I think she's foreign." Then Bray blushed a little, as if he'd said something embarrassing or rude. When the others didn't comment, he elaborated, "She had a 'dex on her. It was in her…uh…tucked in her…shirt."

Flannery looked bemused, but both Norman and Wattson understood, small smiles twitching their mouths.

"In her bra? Haha! What a place to hide it!"

"A Pokédex?" Roxanne spoke up for the first time, looking up from the mountain of paperwork claiming her desk. "Think she's a research assistant from another region?" She started rifling through papers, getting lost amongst them. "Who's got the number for Immigration and Customs? They keep records of who comes in, don't they? Or maybe Professor Birch can reach out to the others? Mayor Wiseacre…"

Norman sighed and rubbed his forehead, feeling exhausted by the very idea of dealing with either party. Immigration felt itself separate from the Trainer League and would balk at the thought of sharing any information. And the mayor of Slateport would try to derail the subject and focus on his private agenda—getting a gym situated in the city. "If a research assistant is out there with a possible concussion and a priceless piece of tech in her hands, we are more than just obligated to find her."

"Priceless?" Wattson guffawed, slapping the table in front of him repeatedly. "I heard your son dropped his six times before he made it outta Littleroot. No concussion required on his part."

"A Pokédex is tough enough to handle any accidents. But the human head isn't. She's got a concussion—"

"Careful, Norman, you're contradicting yourself."

The two men shared looks of thin dislike.

"…as I was saying, just…" Norman pointedly looked at Brawly's share of the screen. Avoiding Wattson. "We'll keep an eye out for her. I'll tell Rory to watch out for her, too. In the meantime, I'll ask the Professor if he can check with his colleagues, find out who she is."

"This does wonders for my peace of mind." Brawly said, by way of thanks. "Which reminds me, how close is Rory to swinging by Dewford for his badge?"

"He hasn't made it to me yet." Came Roxanne, muffled by her files, which seemed to have multiplied in number.

Norman frowned but delayed, holding up a hand in a placating manner, "He's having a hard time adjusting, after the fiasco last year."

"I don't think we have to have rematches." Flannery piped up, looking anxious. "I mean, I don't mind, but I don't see how—"

Peeking up over her files, the dark circles under her eyes matching her dark hair, Roxanne said, "Trainer card applications were 30% this year compared to last. And I've had a 15% drop in challengers. The rematches are supposed to inspire the trainers that the League is still alive."

When it had almost been drowned by the actions of a mere gang. And then stopped by a child.

"Which reminds _me_ , Norman, that I caught one of your students causing a ruckus at the nightclub. Aren't they supposed to be a little more disciplined than that?"

The subject moved on to other areas, from city politics to local pokémon life. Flannery complained about her responsibility and the fact that no one took her seriously, and Wattson wanted someone to explain "crowd funding" to him so that he could start working on New Mauville. Again. Brawly set himself aside from the rest, unable to tear his mind away from the girl. According to the men who'd found her, she'd had a foreign accent and kept accusing them and their pokémon of cosplaying. Stranger than that was how she'd appeared to begin with. In Granite Cave, in the Painted Room, from _above_.

There was no ceiling to the Painted Room. He knew it without a doubt. And according to the clinic nurse, she'd said something odd. About video games and drugs. She'd been rude, confrontational, ungrateful and almost violent, according to the nurse who'd attended to her. And when no one was looking, she'd climbed out a window.

Brawly couldn't put aside the feeling that the girl was trouble. And she'd slipped away before he could figure out what kind.


	2. Chapter 1

_The Stain of Heroism_

 **Chapter One**

In grand total, Char had dated one man and three boys. Her standards for male partners were different these days, but Terry King from her senior year of high school had always stuck in her head. Not because they'd had sex in the boys' locker room once—during a home football game, no less—but because he'd taken her home one night and had proudly presented her his latest birthday present—a mini macaw. Having next to no appreciation for animals and wild with hormones, she hadn't cared much about the bird and spent the rest of the night having sex on every flat surface (and some that weren't). A few days later, Terry's parents had invited her for dinner, and everyone had discovered that the bird was the living equivalent of an audio-only homemade porn video. Upon seeing her, it had immediately reenacted her sleepover in great detail.

Most embarrassing of all was when Mrs. King had looked between Char, the bird, and her son and had said, "Bless your heart, honey, sounds like she was faking it. Didn't you read that book your papa bought you last year?"

The relationship hadn't lasted after that, mostly because Terry was embarrassed by his lack of experience. More than his pitifully-lacking sexual prowess, Char remembered the bird and how well it could mimic. It'd been dumb, obviously, repeating only what it'd heard and associated with her, and humans could be just as dumb, if not more so.

It wasn't the case with pokémon.

"That's fucking perfect!"

"It is." Char set the binoculars in her lap, sighing and rubbing her head. No migraines today, not yet, but she was hungry. If she didn't eat, she'd get hit with one, and last thing she needed was to teach Iago more cuss words. He was out-cussing her these days.

The bird shuffled his feathers and hopped onto her shoulder to whisper, "It's fucking _perfect_!" He was imitating a previous temper tantrum of hers, slyly looking to her and expecting another round of rage. He liked it when she breathed fire, she'd learned, and he especially liked it when he could direct that fire at others.

Not rising to his bait—this time—she agreed in a monotone, "I'm sure it is. Are they still on the lookout in Rustboro?"

Iago cocked his head away from her. He wanted to play, and he would get surly quickly if she wasn't delicate. But since she had no delicacy, and he _knew_ that, the bird decided to let the matter go. Instead, speaking in an impeccable human male voice, he said, "Suspect is five-foot eleven, with red hair and green eyes. She speaks with an accent and carries a pokédex registered to the name Jane Doe. If you see her, please call the number below."

"Polly want a cracker?" Char offered as a reward.

Iago's eyes narrowed. This time, using her voice, he said, "Polly wants his feathers stroked and fried rinds."

"Diva." She pulled her backpack close and pulled out a bag of the nastiest food ever made. And having survived the first decade of her life on McDonald's and other fast food, that was saying a lot. But he loved it, so as soon as she opened the bag the bird pokémon dove straight inside like an Olympic diver into a pool. Iago's version of a splash was fairly wet, too, considering the amount of oil the chips were marinating in. Char grimaced.

Appeased by his treat, Iago said from inside the bag, "They've got a picture of you, too. Not a very good one."

Char didn't know how and where the League had managed to swipe a photo of her; even her trainer ID lacked her likeness. Nevertheless she was fairly confident that she'd elude their notice with her new appearance. Mostly. The League knew her as a tempestuous redhead with pale eyes, but a bottle of black dye plus a pair of foggy, fake glasses made Char look less like an avenger and more like a sulky emo kid. She had to consciously slouch, making her seem less tall, and she'd traded her Southern accent for a simpler, nondescript one.

The first test of her new anonymity would be in Roxanne, leader of the Rustboro gym.

"Let's go." Twisting around, Char looked behind her and down to the shore to Magik, who was splashing around in the water in great imitation of stupidity.

It was shocking how many people and pokémon were fooled by the act. Or more accurately, downright confused.

Beside Char, Iago rolled around with the bag over his head. So that he wouldn't end up suffocating himself, she removed the bag, wrinkling her nose at the whiff of vinegar that followed.

"Ah. I almost came from that."

"That's disgusting." She _knew_ she hadn't said that in front of the bird, and it escaped her where else he could have possibly learned anything so inappropriate.

"You need to get _laid_."

"Am I going to have to tape your mouth shut when we go into town?"

"Don't tie me up, Mr. Gray. I'm a _good_ girl."

Char shot the bird a narrow-eyed look, but the chatot merely blinked innocently. She didn't want to think where he was getting Fifty Shades references from; the locals were as straight-laced as Southern Baptists. No gambling, no swearing, no fornication, and most certainly no soft-core, housewife porn.

And no violent, tempestuous women abducted from alternate realities. Except for Char, of course. She didn't fit in this world. And thanks to her influence, neither did Iago. The instant someone else caught wind of his bad mouth, she'd be outed.

With Iago hopping behind her, she slid down the hill and to the bank. Magik flapped uselessly, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly picture of innocence. She'd wandered out of range for Char to summon her back with her pokéball.

Leaning close to the edge, Char turned a stern look to her fish. "Get your ass over here."

Magik pretended not to hear.

"You've been playing for an hour. We have to go."

No response, except more splashing.

"I swear, you piece of shit, you get over here before I jump in that water after you. Want to feel what it's like when someone bites _your_ ass?"

 _This_ motivated Magik to make her way closer, though she insisted on her innocent charade the whole while. It meant that by the time the pokémon was close enough to be recalled, Char's patience was hanging on a thread. A very thin, very frail thread. She glared at the fish before returning it to its ball.

Landing on her shoulder, Iago sang, " _So_ close to getting her there, felt her thighs trembling—"

"Wanna go in a ball, too, birdbrain?" Char asked, knowing it would shut the parrot up. Sure enough, his beak clicked closed, and he flew off, silent except for the indignant flap of wings. "Thought so."

The peace didn't last for long, though. Iago got bored after a while and came back to perch on top of her head or hop from tree to tree. When Char stopped to scout ahead with her binoculars, he'd bully wurmples out of trees and peck at them until she told him to move on.

When she couldn't take the squealing anymore, she tossed a baleful look up at the bird. "Can you not wait until after the gym?"

Iago copied her scowl, the expression comical when imitated by his less-flexible facial muscles. In her voice, he said, "Can you not wait until after the gym?"

"Stop that."

"Stop that."

They shared thinly-veiled looks of dislike—one real, the other a mockery. Then, despite her infamous ill-temper, a smile started to crack across Char's stern, forbidding face. Pleased with himself, Iago nuzzled her cheek affectionately.

He was little fucker, but he was a cute one.

"Fine." She conceded, waving him off with one hand. "Do what you want. Just don't bitch at me later."

With that, the pokémon squawked in victory and took off. Char watched him wing into the woods, her expression thoughtful and just a bit wistful. She liked his lazy, carefree nature, so at odds with her own. She especially liked that he tolerated—not just tolerated, but _enjoyed_ —her. Maddening as he was, she'd have gone insane forever ago if not for the bird.

That thought invited a frown, and the faint wrinkles along her eyes deepened. She hated Hoenn, ever since from the start; only Iago and Magik brightened the darkness hanging around her. She'd miss them when—

"Screee!"

Her musing was interrupted by a particularly strident screech from her bird, and when she glanced to the side, she caught him harassing a nincada in the grass.

'Really?' Her look said, 'It hasn't been _five_ minutes.'

At her glare, he flapped in a circle and explained, "But he's big!" As if that was enough of an excuse.

The nincada was indeed larger than usual. A quick scan with the pokédex confirmed it was outside the normal range for its species. The pokédex also indicated the pokémon's level, and that caught her attention more than anything else.

"What is it?" Iago landed on her shoulder, peering onto the screen. Since he couldn't read, she said the number aloud for him, and the pokémon's expression sharpened, resembling a hawk more than a parrot.

Before she could comment, much less stuff the 'dex into her pocket, the bird arrowed towards the bug, mouth open and sharp. Iago went for the legs first, pecking at the joints, and Char stayed back to watch, only paying half-attention. She didn't like the delay, and she'd never liked pokémon battles much to begin with, whether with trainers or wild encounters. Especially the former.

The nincada's cries went in one ear and out the next as Iago dived and swooped from above, making use of his type advantage. Char didn't look up until a new sound disturbed her reverie, and she didn't like the interference even before she recognized it.

Another trainer.

As was the tendency when she came into contact with any living thing that wasn't her pokémon, her mood turned from relaxed to sour. It didn't help things that the interloper was a child. She _hated_ children, especially pre-teens. If Hoenn had a Hell, she didn't doubt that their version of a devil was stocking one of his circles with annoying brats between the ages of twelve to sixteen, with her personal torture in mind.

"What are you doing?"

She had various reasons for disliking children; the list, in fact, was too long to summarize. Baring her teeth, her expression turning forbidding, Char told the boy, in no uncertain terms, "Leave."

"You're hurting that pokémon!" He pointed a finger at the nincada, his cheeks still round with baby fat.

"It's called a pokémon battle." She said in a snarl that was as quiet as it was biting.

The boy flinched some, taking a step back, but if the people of Hoenn had anything in spades, it was unnecessary ideals. Mainly, justice. It overruled their cowardice and made them bold, where an American would either bluster with pride or walk past in indifference. Steeling himself, the boy recovered lost ground, squaring his shoulders and stepping _towards_ Char. It was a small step, smaller than the one he'd taken back, but it was _forward_.

Her expression went dark, like thunderclouds. "Bug off, kid." She had to be careful not to swear, and the fact that she had to use restraint made her more irritable than ever.

"You're taking the fight too far."

As if she hadn't heard those words before. She sneered, and no doubt she looked just like a Team Rocket villain. Or worse. Sure enough, the boy took a half step back.

Just half.

Fuck, she hated children. They looked too innocent, too vulnerable, and they were always the hardest to kill. And at the same time, they were the easiest. Which made it all the harder to bear them, because another characteristic on her Hate List was frailty.

She didn't have the mental fortitude to last against a child; she'd break and expose herself somehow. And that was the one thing she couldn't risk. To Iago, she called, "That's enough."

The bird gave her a speculative look, and he took a moment to consider her order. After glancing between her and the wheezing nincada, which could no longer stand and had two legs bent out of shape and another two bleeding profusely, he hopped into the air and flapped ahead. Without comment, Char followed.

Behind her, the child rushed to the pokémon, murmuring soothing words. If Hoenn was anything like the TV shows or the game—and she didn't kid herself; it _was_ —then that boy would no doubt befriend the pokémon, train it, and pursue some starry-eyed destiny that involved rubbing elbows with legendaries and foisting the plans of childish criminals. She, on the other hand, would trudge through this farce, fighting hard not to stand out and racing for the finish line. Discretion and speed had never been her fortes.

But she had sisters at home, waiting for her. A mother, who had only just recovered. And then her few friends, overseas the most of them, but they'd be expecting to find her once they made it Stateside. It was one thing to leave those people for school. It was quite another to depart from the world altogether.

The first few minutes right outside town were tense. Char hunched her shoulders, feeling like any second someone would recognize her. Or worse, that the boy would come running after and call the authorities. Authorities, being, the gym leader. And Roxanne would no doubt call the others, and then Norman…

Char felt the air in her lungs freeze.

She coughed, knowing that Iago was watching her strangely, and tried to hide her unease by trudging forward, towards the city, towards the gym. She was also keeping an eye out for other trainers. Hoenn was large, but she always feared being remembered. Or worse, identified. On this principle, she avoided other trainers, but she hadn't been so careful at first. Now she was paying for those mistakes.

But if the disguise worked…

If she could get past Roxanne, Char was confident she could fool the rest. Or at least, most of them.

The closer she got to the gym, the more her heart pounded. Her palms are even sweating, and nerves made her feel like a live wire. She hadn't had anxiety problems before, but then again, she'd lived in a normal world. With cars and Internet and regular cats and dogs. Now she had a cussing parrot and a delusional fish for company, as well as the local government on her ass. And now she had to—

"Boss."

Char nearly jumped, and it took everything she had not to cuss a storm at Iago. Not that she really could; she was too busy silently cussing at herself for getting distracted. Rubbing at her arms, she started up at the gym. It looked taller in real life, and it looked intimidating, too. There was a bit of a sinister air in the way it loomed overhead, like a widow maker branch threatening to crush her, and the chill that was in her lungs spread down her spine like a cold finger.

"Scary…" Iago whispered, sensing her mood.

Numbly, she licked her lips and nodded. "Yup. Definitely."

It was just a normal building, really. But it _was_ huge, probably too fit all those arenas. The games had neglected to include things like bathrooms or maintenance closets or lockers, and she'd never thought that she'd find such a mundane reality frightening.

"We got this." She whispered to Iago, and he rubbed his beak against her cheek, consoling. Once more, to herself, she whispered, "We got this."

She grabbed the handle, shivering a little at the cool metal, and pulled. And pulled again.

The door was locked.

«_-~·*°»

"Motherfuckingsonofabitch."

Char paced through the grass, making as much noise as she dared without drawing the attention of other trainers. She'd had enough unsavory encounters for the day as it was. Iago hopped behind her, chirping and repeating her curse words happily, his good mood grating against her bad one.

"Mother fucking, mother fucking…"

"I can't believe I hyped myself up for nothing." She told the bird, then stopped to point into a shaking pile of grass. "There. Go get 'im."

Immediately, the pokémon shut up and dived into the grass, which shrieked shrilly. He emerged a short time later, his beak wet and a spindly leg caught there. He chewed on it for a few moments before swallowing it whole, but Char wouldn't let him at the rest of the body.

"Don't be a glutton." She'd never had to worry about feeding pokémon in the games, but this was real. And in real life, she had to consider those things—feeding, tending to their emotional needs, et cetera. "Bring it over."

Iago dragged the rest of the body for her viewing, and Char scanned the pokémon's data into her 'dex. She hoped to find a skitty somewhere around here, but so far a specimen had eluded her. Maybe she needed to rein back on Iago; screams weren't going to entice a playful pink cat into her path.

" _What kind of hunting you did back in the States? Deer and ducks and stuff?"_

" _Just because I'm Southern doesn't mean I hunt."_

" _Doesn't mean she can cook either!"_

Ignoring the echoes of laughter in her head, Char told Iago to scale back for the time being and just keep an open eye while they wandered. "I don't want to run into any more kids." She explained harshly.

Iago eyed her curiously, and in his unabashed way, he asked, "Have you ever hunted them before, Boss?"

He meant children, she assumed. He was getting better at finding her sensitive spots and poking at them. She didn't blame him, though; his nature was to be curious. All the same the question inspired a wave of bitterness, not directed at him exactly. It was more for the very idea of frail, delicate children.

Fuck, had she mentioned how much she hated them?

" _This won't be like hunting deer or ducks, baby doll."_

Her mouth a tight line, she said, "It happened, sometimes." And because Iago's look was searching, wanting more, she added, "And then I had a beer after everything was done."

"A beer…?"

"It's what we drank to celebrate, Iago." She elaborated, almost hearing the clink of their bottles and the warmth of Scottie's arm over her shoulders as they hashed out the deeds of the day. Arwen's thoughtful and peaceful expression, barely discernible through the haze caused by Nick's cigar obsession, and LT's quiet pride and approving smiles.

" _Did you see how he cried? You'd think his balls never dropped."_

" _They dropped fast when you started working on him, eh? Right, Char?"_

Iago seemed satisfied with her answer. Chatots, she'd learned from him, were quite like cuckoo birds. They were so good at mimicry because the chicks used it to practice their hunting skills by ferreting out nests of delicate wurmple and caterpie. They'd hum and sing the prey into complacency and strike when close. No one would expect such savagery from a bright, colorful, cheery bird, but Char knew. It was one of the many reasons she and Iago got along so well—they knew how to be predators.

It took another hour to locate a skitty. Iago sliced at the back of its legs with his wings, hobbling the cat, and while it wailed, Char scanned it with the pokédex. Since he needed the training, she let Iago peck at it until it fainting, watching him probe its sides and back and face and pointing out possible weak points. When it fainted, she revived and healed the pokémon and let it flee, because it did them no good to leave a trail of carnage in their wake. People noticed that sort of thing.

They spent most afternoons like this, hunting bugs for Iago to prey upon. It saved Char money on pokémon food and helped raise Iago's level without needing constant trips to the local Center when he got injured. Which happened less and less often after she'd narrowed his victims exclusively to bugs. It was a method she'd used often back when she played the video games—farming—and it hadn't taken much explaining for Iago to understand.

Iago hunted seven more times before she called it quits. She'd kept an eye on his progress with the pokédex, and though he hadn't leveled as much as she would have liked, she didn't have the energy to sit around and watch all day. She was antsy, displeased at the delay to her plans, and she was distracting Iago.

"Ugh, I'm _tired_." Iago landed on her shoulder and made a great show of groaning in her ear.

They were just outside the city limits. The sun was already starting to set, and Char had yet to rent a hotel for the night. Swatting at him half-heartedly, she asked, "Polly want a cracker?"

"Polly wants to go to bed and watch TV. And Polly wants to know if we'll hit the gym again."

"In the morning." She rolled Magik's ball between her hands. She was tired, too. Magik never seemed to be, but she'd be bitchy if she wasn't allowed to practice her dumb splashing in a tub all night. And a bitchy Magik wasn't good for gym battles. "If they're open, we'll hit it first thing."

"The gym is closed for the rest of the week, I think."

Char jumped, and thankfully Iago's surprised squawk covered her cussing.

"Holy f—" Quickly, she covered Iago's beak and spun towards the voice, heart racing.

 _So close. So close. So fucking close._ "I'm…I'm sorry?" Her heart was thudding against her ribs like a drum, so far she was almost shaking. "What did…you surprised me. What did you say?"

"My apologies, I didn't mean to frighten you."

He was a young man, probably her age. Or younger. Some of these people looked way too young for their age. But he wasn't dressed young—a nice, slim pair of trousers with a button up shirt, tucked in, a shiny watch with a tiny digital screen, and his ice blue hair spiky but neat. He looked mature, intelligent, and put together.

Stepping a little closer, he smiled uneasily, like she was a skittish animal he was afraid of scaring away. Or in this world, a skittish _pokémon_.

Char didn't release her death grip on Iago, half because she was worried he wouldn't keep his beak shut and half because she was still scared out of her wits. At her white face, the man laughed, scratching the back of his head nervously. He looked genuinely remorseful.

"I truly didn't mean it. I just saw you and your chatot, and it speaks quite eloquently."

Eloquent, indeed. Iago was more than just eloquent; he was trouble. And he'd been mimicking her old accent earlier. That fact made her tense up more. Had the man heard it? If he had, did he know what it meant?

"—and I admit I was a little curious. I haven't heard of one so well-spoken. Do…I mean, I understand if you'd rather I not, but can I…?" He looked at Iago with such an openly earnest expression that Char felt herself relax a little.

Just enough for the bird to take advantage, wrest free and shout, "You scared the shit outta me!"

Char's stomach dropped. They were doomed. _She_ was doomed. She—

The man started laughing. "Oh my…I take it it's not native? Did you pick it up in Sinnoh? I haven't been there, but I've heard that they have a nasty habit for picking up things they shouldn't." He reached for Iago, and after a few more cuss words, the bird landed on a fence and let the man approach, eyeing him curiously. "You must scandalize quite a few people." He laughed again, and Iago, unused to compliments from anyone but Char, bowed his head and let the man pet him.

The man's admiration—yes, _admiration_ —seemed genuine, and as strange as it was, the idea that someone was entertained by Iago's potty mouth, someone _else_ , was…weird. It made Char feel a little sick.

Nostalgic, too.

Faintly, she says, "I try to keep him quiet around others. People here are…old fashioned." She winced then, worried about her phrasing, but the man didn't seem to notice.

"Virgins." Iago declared eagerly, looking at the man with an expression that begged for attention.

"Iago!" Char chastised, blood rushing to her face. From behind the man, she glared, conveying with her eyes, _Shut the fuck up!_

Iago's own eyes said, _I'm enjoying myself!_

"No, no, it's quite alright." Smiling gently, the man scratched the back of the bird's head. To Char he said, "Forgive me for indulging his bad habits. I can't seem to help myself. He's…he's quite a fascinating specimen. I thought his species merely imitated sounds, but he seems to understand what he's saying."

"What can I say?" This, Iago said with a measure of pride, cocking his wing to his forehead in a salute.

"I'd heard that a flock recently immigrated here from Sinnoh. Are they as advanced as yours? I'm sorry if it's a dumb question; I've been traveling, and it's been a long time since I was last in Hoenn." He smiled at her, and it pierced through her gaze of worry. It only just occurred to her that he was handsome, though she'd never been attracted to the refined type before.

"Dumb question deserves a dumb answer." Chirped Iago, then he jumped into the air and circled their heads, whistling the tune to a very inappropriate rap song he'd heard from Char.

The man laughed again, amused. "I'm very charmed, Iago. Thank you for indulging my curiosity. And Miss," He turned his smile to Char again, and it'd been so long since she'd had a normal conversation with another human that she blushed. He extended his hand, and when she reached out to shake, he instead squeezed her fingers. It was such a tender, human gesture that it made her a little confused. And dizzy. "I really am sorry for scaring you and taking your time. And eavesdropping, too, because I couldn't help but hear your conversation about the gym. If it pleases you, let me buy you dinner. As an apology for my rudeness, of course. And I'll explain the situation with the local gym, too."

Heat raced from his hand to hers, and when Char looked into his earnest gaze, she recognized something there. Something very human, which she hadn't seen in the long, long time since she'd fallen into this world.

It was irresistible.

This was a bad idea. She had things to do, a _plan_. But Char missed being a person, missed not worrying about swear words or the color of her hair or who might find her. Or what would happen when they did.

He was a traveler; he'd practically admitted it. He'd been gone from Hoenn a long time. He didn't seem to recognize her, and how could he? He wouldn't know her from Adam.

"Iago, can you—?"

His eyes were as sharp as his mind. Even if he was a pokémon, he knew humans. Or rather, he knew Char. "On it, Boss." The bird flew over and plucked Magik's ball from her outstretched hand, swinging towards the coast. She trusted him to take care of himself and Magik for the time being, to understand.

She tried not to feel guilty.

Turning to the man, she gestured with her chin to Rustboro, "Know any good places in town?"

He'd let go of her hand, and now he stepped closer, smiling down on her. He was taller, she hadn't noticed that until now, and it was nice to not have to hide her height, worrying about towering over others. His eyes were the same shade as his hair, the sunset gilding them both in red and gold, and the way he looked at her made her skin tingle with long forgotten feelings. "I have one in mind."

She was being selfish. This could bite her in the ass.

Despite months of caution, Char couldn't bring herself to care.

«_-~*°»

 _Knock-knock, knock-knock…_

…

"What the hell was that?"

Char groaned, burying her face under her pillow.

 _Knock-knock, knock-knock…_

"What the—"

"Okay, okay, I'm up. Shut up!" She felt around and threw something in Iago's general direction. "Fucking fuck, leave me alone for one minute."

Instead she heard the obnoxiously loud flapping of wings, and then, "Oh, I'm close, I'm so close, I can't-I can't, so close—"

"Perv." Rolling into her side, she opened one eye, squinting against the sunlight. "Why…are you wearing my underwear as a _hat_?"

"You threw it, I caught it." Said Iago from underneath her underwear.

"Eww, that's gross, take that off. And take a bath."

"Can't. Your one night wonder was kind enough to put Magik in the tub, so…" Iago's gaze drifted to a closed door, and sure enough, Char could hear muffled splashing.

Wait…tub? One night won—

Char jumped up in bed. And went beet red as she recalled the events of last night. And redder still.

"How'd you get in?" Her clothes were all over the place. _His_ , she noted, were absent.

One night wonder, indeed…

"He opened the window for us before he left. Fed us, too." Iago sounded very pleased, probably allowed to stroke his ego a few more times. "Should have seen him with Magik."

"She bite?" The pokémon was always thinking about it, Char was sure. Magik hadn't slipped up in the charade yet, but it was only a matter of time.

"She's harmless, silly~!" The chatot sang, winging overhead and dropping her underwear in her lap as he circled. "She's got a heart of gold, that little fish. Speaking of which…looks like someone stole his heart last night, eh? And by heart, I mean dick."

She was _not_ going to have this conversation with a bird. A very smart bird, but a bird all the same. A perverted one who, while discreet where strangers were concerned, would have no compunction against reminding her of this entire farce to the end of time.

"Looked like he got something outta you, too. I think I saw bite marks—"

"What time is it?" She interrupted suddenly, sincerely desperate to detail the conversation.

But the pokémon wouldn't be deterred so easily. "He said to tell you that the room's already paid, for as long as we need it. He would have liked to buy you breakfast and maybe," Iago's voice changed into perfect imitation of a very familiar male, "'Repeat last night's conversation.'"

Char groaned in embarrassment and buried her face in her pillow, feeling the heat all the way to her ears. She was trying very hard not to think about 'last night,' sure she'd die of mortification. She'd never done anything like that before! With a guy she'd just met! But she'd been so lonely, and as eloquent a conversation partner Iago could be (when he wasn't being a pervert), he wasn't a replacement for true human interaction.

"—but he has 'business.' He really enjoyed your time together, though, and is sorry that you won't be able to challenge the gym until next month."

"Until…next _month_?!" She shot out of the bed this time, nearly tripping over the bed covers.

Overhead, Iago snickered, " _My_ , Adalyne, what _interesting_ marks on your—"

" _Can it_!" Her pants were thrown over a chair, and her sweatshirt and undershirt were tangled in the sheets. For a moment she panicked, worrying about a bra she'd never had to begin with, and then she was throwing her clothes on, a sense of urgency pumping her bloodstream with adrenaline. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, where she expected to run, but _fuck_ , the gym was closed for a month?!

Behind her Iago was cackling, finding amusement in her mad scramble. She had enough mind to leave the door cracked behind her, but it meant that she was subject to his high-pitched laughter all the way down the hall. Even in the hotel lobby, she swore she could still hear him.

"Excuse me, I—"

"Oh, good morning, miss!" The woman at the counter sang cheerfully.

Fuck, everyone in this reality was so fucking bright and jolly. Would it kill someone to be a pessimist?

"I—" She cleared her throat, her telling twang leaking through, and after a moment, said, "Is Rustboro Gym closed?"

"Dear me, were you hoping to challenge Miss Roxanne?" The woman was pretty, in a nondescript way that was characteristic of everyone here. Flat, one-dimensional. Like a character.

Memories of last night made Char flush. _He_ hadn't been one-dimensional, not…at…all…

She shook her head to get rid of those thoughts. "What happened? I mean, what about trainers? Is the League suspended or something?"

The very thought made her more than a little sick with dread. She _had_ to fight the League, to climb the ranks to Evergrande. The only logical way she could come up with…oh, fuck, if they'd suspended the League until—

"Goodness, no!" The woman tittered cheerily, fanning a hand. "Apparently a promising young upstart and his pokémon tore out the jumbotron. It's closed until repairs can be made. Unfortunately, Miss Roxanne also took this opportunity to have a much-needed vacation. Trainers can schedule their challenges at the City Hall, though, for when she returns."

Vacation? Vacation! What the… Faintly, Char said, "Ah…thanks for…thanks. I'll…I'll…um, what time am I supposed to check out?" A month? An entire _month_! What was she supposed to do in that time?! She couldn't spend so much time in one place; what if she was recognized? People here were too _friendly_ , and it wouldn't take long before someone was trying to get too close, before they started memorizing her features and noticed that she looked a lot like a certain wanted criminal.

She'd already messed up with last night. A wonderfully pleasurable mistake, but a mistake all the same.

When she stormed up to the hotel room, she was feeling a lot less solicitous than before.

Slamming the door shut behind her, she whirled to Iago and growled, through gritted teeth, "He booked the room up for a month."

"Oh, how nice of him—"

"He pinned the bill on me!" Crushed in her fist was the very bill itself, and she waved her arms, letting loose her fury. "That's over seventy thousand bucks!"

"The common slang term is 'deer,' Char—"

"That fucking son of a _bitch_!" She whisper-screamed, infuriated and enraged but not to the point of endangering herself. Racing to the window, she flipped the latch and threw it open, introducing a nice, innocent breeze into the room. Rather than cooling her head, it fanned the flames of her anger, and she had to spend an entire minute practicing breathing exercises before she was calm enough not to kill the first person she saw.

And even then it was a gamble on whether or not she'd maim someone.

"Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_!" She whacked her head against the sill, her chest burning and angry tears stinging her eyes. Was she never going to catch a break? Was she forever doomed to endless misfortune? Would she never get…oh fuck, would she be here forever? What about home? What about the girls? One moment of weakness—just one!—and she was paying for it.

In full.

Where was she going to get the money? She got by with a few battles here and there, but as confident as she was about a match versus Roxanne, she didn't have it in her to fight often. Certainly not enough to afford a month's worth of hotel bills.

"What are we gonna do?" This was the only hotel in town, and regardless of the cost, they couldn't sleep outside until the gym reopened. Camping required equipment, and that was just another expense. "Iago, please tell me I'm dreaming." If she was lucky, she'd wake up and find out that the whole ordeal—the one night stand, included—was just a silly, irrational nightmare.

If she was _really_ lucky, she'd wake up in Birmingham, Alabama, on time for her Carbon Biology lecture.

At some point her bird had crawled under a table, and while she pulled at her hair, he backed out, chirping. His voice muffled, he hopped onto the window and dropped a metal case next to Char's hand. "If you're finished with your histrionics—"

"You didn't get that word from me." Char says, half impressed and half accusing, like she'd caught him cheating on her.

"—hush and look in the case, Boss."

"Iago…"

" _Look_!"

Still peeved, she sullenly popped open the case, if only to get him to shut up. She asked a brief glance at the contents, expecting wadded up underwear or condoms (no telling with Iago's sense of humor), and she did a double take when a glint caught her eye.

"Is…that…?"

The interior was crushed velvet, and inside the lid, tucked behind a metal clip, was a laminated trainer card—much like the one she had in her pocket—and a thin wad of bills. But more importantly than that, nestled in a perfectly-molded depression was a shiny piece of metal. A badge.

A _Rustboro Gym_ badge.

Char considered a law-abiding person. At least, she had been in her world. But here…here people saw her as a criminal. A thief, a charlatan, a terrorist. Looking at the badge brought her back to a terrible, terrible time in a cold, brightly-lit room with a person who frightened her. Her chest felt tight with fear, and adrenaline surged in her veins, her mind screaming at her to _run_. Nothing was fair in her world, but matters were much, much worse in Hoenn. Not only was life here unfair, the odds were stacked against her.

She'd wanted a break, a chance. Here was he badge she needed…

"I'd say our luck has turned around, Char." Iago hopped onto her shoulder, purring in pleasure.

This time, she had to agree.


End file.
